


hydrologia

by sea_level



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: Adam realizes that maybe he should calm down a bit, Enemies to Potentially Being Friends In The Future, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_level/pseuds/sea_level
Summary: When Adam finally dies after his hospitalization, Henry is there waiting for him at the side of the river.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	hydrologia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/gifts).



> massive thanks to all the people who proofread this for me! i don't think it would be legible without you!
> 
> to still_lycoris, i hope you like this! i, too, find adam to be a really fascinating character, and getting to dig into what makes him tick was a real treat!

Henry is there, standing at the side of the river when Adam emerges. Grim-faced, he looks like a man about to be called to war. He's in his usual suit and scarf, with a towel and a change of clothes slung over his arm.

“I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party,” Adam says, faking amusement. He accepts the towel and dries off quickly.

“You can’t have believed I would have just let you go.” Henry hands over the clothes and turns to the side while Adam gets dressed.

“I could have swum to the other shore,” Adam says, pulling on the pants. They’re in his size or at least some approximation of it.

“You didn’t, though.”

“I didn’t,” Adam admits. He leans down to put on the socks and shoes. They’re sneakers, modern though generic, and certainly not the kind that Henry would buy. Maybe he got someone else to buy them for him. Who knows who he’s met while Adam was out of commission.

Henry’s watching him, consideringly. “I thought you’d be angrier,” he says, after a pause.

“I was.” There’s only a hoodie left now. He’s never particularly cared for them, but he’s still cold from the swim. It’s not like he has much of a choice. Once he’s fully dressed, he continues. “I also have 2,000 years of perspective.”

Henry makes a face and gestures for him to follow. They climb back up to the sidewalk and start to follow the road on foot. Adam had been hoping they'd take a car to their destination, but he's not surprised that Henry would prefer to walk. The last time they'd been in a car, Adam _had_ killed the both of them. At least this is a good opportunity for him to stretch his legs.

Once they've established a steady pace, though, Adam expects Henry to continue the conversation. Henry, for his part, remains silent. It's a little disappointing. Despite the fact that Adam has long since buried the urge to externalize his thoughts and feelings, he still finds himself wanting to talk it all out with Henry. 

It's not like he has a lot of people he can talk to in the first place. Most people couldn't understand.

Henry, though? He’s different.

“I was, perhaps, short-sighted when it came to you,” Adam explains. "You spend years and years learning to be patient. When you finally find something important enough to change _everything_ , it suddenly becomes very hard to wait."

"And I was that for you?" Henry asks, dubious but resigned.

"It's been two millennia, Henry. You're the first person I've ever met who shares my condition."

Henry turns, face twisted up in a glare. "That's doesn't forgive—"

"I know," Adam interrupts. "As I said, I got some perspective, and thanks to you, some time to properly reassess. I can see now a gentler hand would have been more effective."

Henry scoffs and turns away, his eyes trained on the sidewalk ahead of them.

“You’re still young. You’re smart. You’re fighting,” Adam continues. "It's been quite a while now, but I was much the same when I was your age."

Henry continues walking as if Adam hadn't said anything at all.

"It's important, I think, that you let these feelings..." Adam hesitates, considering his word choice carefully. "...age appropriately. At your own pace, of course."

Henry's fists clench almost imperceptibly. So he _was_ listening.

Adam smiles.

* * *

They end up at Abe's Antiques. It looks just about the same as it did the last time Adam was there, though the items on display have changed quite a bit. 

"I'm surprised you'd take me here," Adam comments, ignoring that Henry locks the door behind him.

"Abe's not home," Henry replies. "He shouldn't be back for a while."

"You know I'd never—"

"I know," Henry says. He stops there, but it's hard not to see that he's still scared something might happen to Abe regardless.

Adam makes a non-committal sound and follows Henry up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Take a seat," Henry says, pulling out one of the chairs before walking over to the sink, snagging the teakettle as he goes.

"This is homey," Adam comments.

Henry frowns, turning on the tap. The water flows loudly, filling up the kettle.

"Relax," Adam says, "I'm just making small talk. So what do you have planned for me?"

Henry puts the teakettle on the stove. The burner clicks and then flares to life. He turns around and leans back against the counter, facing Adam from across the small room.

"Tea?" he asks, ignoring the question.

"I would appreciate some," Adam replies.

"What type?"

Adam contemplates the question for a moment and then says, "Darjeeling."

Henry twitches. "Now isn't the time for games, Adam."

"Ah," Adam says, "so you remembered that from our little therapy session. I assure you, I don't mean anything by it. Darjeeling tea simply is my favorite. I am fine with any other type of tea if it will make you more comfortable."

"No," Henry says. "No, I have it right here." He opens one of the cabinets and produces a small box of bagged tea that he places on the countertop.

"You know," Adam says, "not everything I said was a lie, Henry."

Henry makes a face. "Tea hardly counts."

"Fair enough." Adam shrugs.

"It was cruel," Henry says, his voice tense as he turns back around to retrieve another box of tea from the cabinet. "I've had the opportunity to learn what modern therapy should be, and, frankly, your little farce was a disgrace to the profession!" He frowns at his own outburst, the corners of his mouth ticking down as he looks away, contemplatively self-aware.

"I can recognize your belief in the sanctity of the Hippocratic Oath," Adam says, and Henry scoffs. Adam sighs. "Look, I regret most of the things I did, now that I've had time to think them over thoroughly."

"Do you know how many people have died because of you?" Henry hisses. "Because of the things you've done to get to _me?_ You didn't have to crash the subway train to test my immortality! You made me _murder_ someone!"

"It was self-defense," Adam says, defending himself by reflex.

"Well I sure as hell can't feel the difference," Henry snaps. "Clark Walker had a family. He had a life. He had people that _cared_ about him. In the hands of another therapist, maybe he could have—" Henry takes a deep breath and looks away, dragging his hand down his face.

"I'm sorry," Adam replies after a moment. "As I said, I regret it."

"Do you regret it for the right reasons?" Henry challenges.

Adam remains silent. They both know that he doesn't, that he only regrets that his actions pushed Henry away from him.

"I can't even imagine becoming like you," Henry says. "I may have only lived for a tenth of the time that you have, but I still fear death. I _still_ can't imagine holding the lives of other people with such little regard the way you do."

Henry is young, still. He can probably count on both hands the number of people he's lost to his immortality. Adam's lost so many now that he has to struggle to remember them.

He doesn't have a good way to explain the slog of just _living_ through one millennium, much less two. The way it feels when you're always on the run, always having to study up on the times, having to learn to fit in and blend in over and over and over. The way the days and months blend together, how everything changes, and yet nothing truly new ever seems to happen. The way life becomes an endless cycle of stress and monotony. How can you possibly convey that to someone that hasn't lived through it?

"I've been alive for—"

"—2000 years," Henry finishes.

"Such concepts tend to blur," Adam replies.

Henry looks up, meeting Adam's eyes. His expression is indecipherable. He asks, "Do they?"

The tea kettle begins to whistle.

* * *

"I know I can't stop you from leaving," Henry says. "Not physically, anyway." He's been silent for a while. Perhaps too long now, at this point. Adam's been sipping his tea slowly, but the cup's already half empty.

"That's probably true," Adam replies. He sets the cup on the table and leans back in his chair.

Henry sighs and then does the same. "I'm sure there's much you want to get back to after being away for so long.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to leave? Without even telling me why you've brought me here?"

"I'm not, actually," Henry says. "I figured you'd have more of a plan, that I'd have to put up a fight to get you to stay."

"You want me to stay, then?" Adam asks skeptically, and, as expected, Henry's brows furrow at the thought.

Henry surprises him, though, when he says, "I'd rather know what you're doing than not. Asking you to stay is a consequence of that."

It isn't meant as an olive branch, that much is clear, but it sure does feel like one.

"There's not much out there for me currently, at least nothing that I wouldn't have to rebuild," Adam explains. "My little empire is in shambles, Henry. It was never meant to function without me for very long. I'd never even factored my disappearance in as a possibility."

"I see," Henry says. He looks, for the first time, a little uncertain. 

Adam picks up his teacup and takes an experimental sip. It's cold. Shame. He drains the rest of it.

"Don't you understand, Henry? You're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in over a millennium," Adam says. "You're second-highest on my priority list, right after finding a way to die."

Henry flinches. "Your theory didn't work, by the way. You shot me, but I came back anyway." 

There's a renewed vigor for life in Henry's eyes at the mention of a permanent death. It's something that Adam hasn't felt himself in a long, long time. It should be pitiable, knowing what's coming Henry's way, but, instead, it's almost refreshing to see. Adam wonders for a moment about what changed and when.

Did it happen when Adam shot him, and he was bleeding out beneath the subway, wondering if this really was his last death? Did he meet someone new, after, who gave him a new perspective?

Adam shouldn't feel envy, but, despite the odds, he feels something remarkably like it prickling at his fingertips. It feels odd to long for that feeling of wanting to live again.

"I figured it didn't, given the fact that you're still around," Adam says, smiling slightly. "I've thought about it, and there are many variations I have yet to try. I think we might be able to run through some of them faster if we work together."

"Okay," says Henry, uncomfortably. "You do realize you've done nothing for me to trust you on this matter."

"Fair enough," Adam says, shrugging it off. He hadn't expected much. "Am I also correct in assuming that you don't particularly want to die either?"

The corner of Henry's mouth twitches. "If there is anything you've given me," he says, "it's perspective."

It's an ambiguous statement, frustrating because Adam can't determine exactly what perspective he's given him.

"Alright," Adam says, "I'm curious now. What would you have me do instead?"

"Ideally?" Henry asks. "Just live a somewhat normal life, at least until..." He hesitates. "Until it's time for me to move on from here. Then we can reassess."

"That sounds delightfully boring," Adam replies. "I've already had more than my fair share of normal lifetimes."

"I think a few normal lifetimes will do you some good, if learning about me was enough to compel you to kill multiple people," Henry says.

Adam sighs, acquiescing only because he doesn't want Henry to slip through his fingers. He needs to find a way to get Henry to stop being so antagonistic. "I'll stay close by, then. I won't kill people. I'll check in with you as regularly as you'll allow. I _do_ want to understand you better, given our shared condition. Even if you won't help me, though, I'd still like to try to figure out how to die."

Henry shifts in his chair, reaching out to grab his teacup and then thinking better of it. "Is the last condition necessary?" he asks, not making eye-contact.

Adam watches him carefully. It doesn't make a lot of sense. If Adam figured out how to die, then Henry himself could die at his leisure, even if he still wanted to live for now. Plus, as much as Adam doesn’t like it, he figures Henry still hates him more than anything else, and a dead Adam would be much more preferable to an alive one. That could only mean...

"You have the pugio, don't you."

Henry tilts his head, searching Adam's expression for a moment before answering. "It's insurance."

"Leverage, more like." Adam smiles. "I can appreciate that."

Henry scrunches his nose. "I'd prefer if you didn't."

"When do you plan on giving it back?" Adam asks.

Henry regards him suspiciously. "When I can trust you."

It's delightfully vague, the timeline stretching from now until the end of the universe. Hopefully, it will happen sooner rather than later, if Adam has anything to say about it. If Henry never comes around, though, then he'll just have to take matters into his own hands.

"Alright, then," Adam says. "It's a deal."


End file.
